The Wolf in the Moonlight - A Fine Selection of Classic Tales of Wolves and Were-Wolves (Cryptofiction Classics - Weird Tales of Strange Creatures)

By Read Books Ltd.

These early works by various authors were written between the Middle Ages and the early 20th century and we are now republishing them with a brand new introduction as part of our Cryptofiction Classics series. 'The Wolf in the Moonlight' contains a collection of short stories about the charismatic creature, the wolf, and includes 'The White Wolf of the Hartz Mountains' by Frederick Marryat (1839), 'The Wolf' by Guy de Maupassant (1882), 'Olalla' by by Robert Louis Stevenson (1885), and many more. Homo sapiens and canis lupus have a long and chequered history together. Amongst early agricultural societies, the wolf was widely feared for its tendency to devastate supplies of livestock. This fear was passed down through the generations, codified in countless legends and folktales, so that, by the Early Middle Ages, as academic and wolf expert Beryl Rowland puts it, the wolf was established as the “universal baleful symbol.” The Cryptofiction Classics series contains a collection of wonderful stories from some of the greatest authors in the genre, including Ambrose Bierce, Arthur Conan Doyle, Robert Louis Stevenson, and Jack London. From its roots in cryptozoology, this genre features bizarre, fantastical, and often terrifying tales of mythical and legendary creatures. Whether it be giant spiders, werewolves, lake monsters, or dinosaurs, the Cryptofiction Classics series offers a fantastic introduction to the world of weird creatures in fiction.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Read Books Ltd.
• Release date: Feb 17, 2015
• ISBN: 9781473399990

Book preview

The Wolf in the Moonlight

A Fine Selection of Classic Tales of

Wolves and Were-Wolves

By Various Authors

Cryptofiction Classics

Copyright © 2013 Read Books Ltd.

This book is copyright and may not be

reproduced or copied in any way without

the express permission of the publisher in writing

British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available

from the British Library

Contents

Introduction

The Lay of the Were-Wolf

The Damnable Life and Death of Stubbe Peter

The White Wolf of the Hartz Mountains

The Gray Wolf

The Man-Wolf

CHAPTER I.

CHAPTER II.

CHAPTER III.

CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V.

CHAPTER VI.

CHAPTER VII.

CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER IX.

CHAPTER X.

CHAPTER XI.

CHAPTER XII.

CHAPTER XIII.

The Wolf

Olalla

A Pastoral Horror

The Mark of the Beast

The Other Side:

A Breton Legend

The Werewolf

The Werwolves

The Lame Priest

The Strange Adventures of a Private Secretary in New York

I

ii

iii

The Camp of the Dog

I

ii

iii

iv

V

The Werewolf

The She-Wolf

The Thing in the Forest

Running Wolf

The Voice in the Night

The Phantom Farmhouse

Biographies

Henry Beaugrand

Algernon Blackwood

Bernard Capes

S. Carleton

Alexandre Chatrian

Sir Arthur Conan Doyle

Émile Erckmann

Eugene Field

Marie de France

Clemence Housman

Rudyard Kipling

George MacDonald

Frederick Marryat

Guy De Maupassant

Hector Hugh Munro

Seabury Quinn

Eric Stenbock

Robert Louis Stevenson

William J. Wintle

Look out for more books in the Series

Introduction

Homo sapiens and canis lupus have a long and chequered history together. Amongst early agricultural societies, the wolf was widely feared for its tendency to devastate supplies of livestock. This fear was passed down through the generations, codified in countless legends and folktales, so that, by the Early Middle Ages, as academic and wolf expert Beryl Rowland puts it, the wolf was established as the universal baleful symbol.

There were some earlier deviations from this attitude. In pre-Christian renderings of the wolf, the creature is presented as a maternal, life-giving figure – for example, the legendary founders of Rome, Romulus and Remus, were suckled by a she-wolf in Plutarch’s famous tale. Similarly, Native American tribes revered and respected the wolf as an elegant and wise animal.

However, around the time of the birth of Christ, literary representations of the wolf generally reached a consensus that the animals embodied rapacity, savagery, greed and (oddly enough) lust. For example, in Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Lycaon, king of Arcadia, serves his dinner guest roasted human flesh. Little does he know that his guest is Zeus in disguise; as punishment for this gory transgression, the Father of the Gods turns Lycaon into the ultimate symbol of savagery: a wolf. Meanwhile, throughout the ancient world, the word for prostitute was lupa – she-wolf.

During the Middle Ages, wolves were cast in ecclesiastical tales as duplicitous monks, who were falsely penitent and secretly interested in material pleasures. This began a trend of associating the figure of the wolf with cunning and trickery. (As later exemplified by the English saying a wolf in sheep’s clothing, and, of course, that famous symbol of two-faced danger: the werewolf.) In Dante’s Divina Commedia, those condemned for committing the sins of the wolf – thievery, hypocrisy, seduction – reside in the eighth circle of hell; in Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice, Shylock’s desires are condemned for being wolvish – bloody, starved and ravenous.

Little surprise, then, that it was around this time that the figure of the werewolf came to prominence in the popular imagination. Although having its origins in earlier tales – such as the first story of this collection, Marie de France’s The Lay of the Were-Wolf – it was during the Early Modern Period that belief in (and fear of) the werewolf spread. During the witchcraft trials of the time, the trial of supposed werewolves occurred throughout Europe, persisting until the late 18th-century. (A number of the condemned men were confessed serial killers.) Along with accusations of lycanthropy (transformation into a wolf) came those of wolf-riding or wolf-charming.

As reflected in this collection, it is around the mid 19th-century that the werewolf really enters the literary tradition. By this point, widespread, literal belief in the creature had begun to vanish, but a lingering fear remained, and there existed a strong tradition of folklore for authors to draw on. One of the earliest examples of the creature in Gothic fiction is Frederick Marryat’s The White Wolf of the Hartz Mountains – an episode from the novel The Phantom Ship (1839), which continues to reflect classically Christian conceptions of the wolf as lascivious and deceptive by presenting the werewolf as a demonic femme fatale.

The werewolf quickly became a popular literary device; hence its use, some decades after Marryat, by popular authors such as Guy de Maupassant and the French duo Emile Erckmann and Alexandre Chatrian – the latter of whose tale, The Man-Wolf, plays heavily on rural German folklore. Robert Louis Stevenson’s Olalla, meanwhile, can be seen as a precursor to his werewolf-inspired Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde (1886), and Kipling’s The Mark of the Beast shows a curious weaving of the figure of the werewolf with themes of orientalism, ascribing its existence in India to the Gods and Devils of Asia.

The 20th-century witnessed an explosion in the popularity of werewolf tales. The much-loved Algernon Blackwood’s werewolf stories, which often incorporated occult elements, were hugely popular – hence the inclusion of three of them here. The other writers included in this collection contributed to a further sophisticating of the werewolf figure, which culminated in Guy Endore’s 1933 novel, The Werewolf of Paris – now considered "the Dracula" of the werewolf genre.

Readers may detect in these later stories more of a nuanced presentation of the wolf’s character. This reflects a trend – triggered by the growth of zoology in the 19th century, Darwin’s evolutionary theories, and various other factors – of increasingly sensitive approaches to animals previously viewed as simply threatening and devilish. Works such as Jack London’s The Call of the Wild (1903) and White Fang (1906) mark a great shift in the Western attitude towards wolves, which has persisted into the present-day with works such as the 1990 film Dances with Wolves. Wolves continue to be weighed down by two centuries of negative symbolism – as naturalist and author Robert Busch says, probably no other animal in history has suffered the amount of misplaced animosity as has the wolf. However, as felt in some of the later stories, attitudes, like the literatures they influence, are constantly evolving.

The Lay of the Were-Wolf

by Marie de France

Amongst the tales I tell you once again, I would not forget the Lay of the Were-Wolf. Such beasts as he are known in every land. Bisclavaret he is named in Brittany; whilst the Norman calls him Garwal.

It is a certain thing, and within the knowledge of all, that many a christened man has suffered this change, and ran wild in woods, as a Were-Wolf. The Were-Wolf is a fearsome beast. He lurks within the thick forest, mad and horrible to see. All the evil that he may, he does. He goeth to and fro, about the solitary place, seeking man, in order to devour him. Hearken, now, to the adventure of the Were-Wolf, that I have to tell.

In Brittany there dwelt a baron who was marvellously esteemed of all his fellows. He was a stout knight, and a comely, and a man of office and repute. Right private was he to the mind of his lord, and dear to the counsel of his neighbours. This baron was wedded to a very worthy dame, right fair to see, and sweet of semblance. All his love was set on her, and all her love was given again to him. One only grief had this lady. For three whole days in every week her lord was absent from her side. She knew not where he went, nor on what errand. Neither did any of his house know the business which called him forth.

On a day when this lord was come again to his house, altogether joyous and content, the lady took him to task, right sweetly, in this fashion, Husband, said she, and fair, sweet friend, I have a certain thing to pray of you. Right willingly would I receive this gift, but I fear to anger you in the asking. It is better for me to have an empty hand, than to gain hard words.

When the lord heard this matter, he took the lady in his arms, very tenderly, and kissed her.

Wife, he answered, ask what you will. What would you have, for it is yours already?

By my faith, said the lady, soon shall I be whole. Husband, right long and wearisome are the days that you spend away from your home. I rise from my bed in the morning, sick at heart, I know not why. So fearful am I, lest you do aught to your loss, that I may not find any comfort. Very quickly shall I die for reason of my dread. Tell me now, where you go, and on what business! How may the knowledge of one who loves so closely, bring you to harm?

Wife, made answer the lord, nothing but evil can come if I tell you this secret. For the mercy of God do not require it of me. If you but knew, you would withdraw yourself from my love, and I should be lost indeed.

When the lady heard this, she was persuaded that her baron sought to put her by with jesting words. Therefore she prayed and required him the more urgently, with tender looks and speech, till he was overborne, and told her all the story, hiding naught.

Wife, I become Bisclavaret. I enter in the forest, and live on prey and roots, within the thickest of the wood.

After she had learned his secret, she prayed and entreated the more as to whether he ran in his raiment, or went spoiled of vesture.

Wife, said he, I go naked as a beast.

Tell me, for hope of grace, what you do with your clothing?

Fair wife, that will I never. If I should lose my raiment, or even be marked as I quit my vesture, then a Were-Wolf I must go for all the days of my life. Never again should I become man, save in that hour my clothing were given back to me. For this reason never will I show my lair.

Husband, replied the lady to him, I love you better than all the world. The less cause have you for doubting my faith, or hiding any tittle from me. What savour is here of friendship? How have I made forfeit of your love; for what sin do you mistrust my honour? Open now your heart, and tell what is good to be known.

So at the end, outwearied and overborne by her importunity, he could no longer refrain, but told her all.

Wife, said he, within this wood, a little from the path, there is a hidden way, and at the end thereof an ancient chapel, where oftentimes I have bewailed my lot. Near by is a great hollow stone, concealed by a bush, and there is the secret place where I hide my raiment, till I would return to my own home.

On hearing this marvel the lady became sanguine of visage, because of her exceeding fear. She dared no longer to lie at his side, and turned over in her mind, this way and that, how best she could get her from him. Now there was a certain knight of those parts, who, for a great while, had sought and required this lady for her love. This knight had spent long years in her service, but little enough had he got thereby, not even fair words, or a promise. To him the dame wrote a letter, and meeting, made her purpose plain.

Fair friend, said she, be happy. That which you have coveted so long a time, I will grant without delay. Never again will I deny your suit. My heart, and all I have to give, are yours, so take me now as love and dame.

Right sweetly the knight thanked her for her grace, and pledged her faith and fealty. When she had confirmed him by an oath, then she told him all this business of her lord—why he went, and what he became, and of his ravening within the wood. So she showed him of the chapel, and of the hollow stone, and of how to spoil the Were-Wolf of his vesture. Thus, by the kiss of his wife, was Bisclavaret betrayed. Often enough had he ravished his prey in desolate places, but from this journey he never returned. His kinsfolk and acquaintance came together to ask of his tidings, when this absence was noised abroad. Many a man, on many a day, searched the woodland, but none might find him, nor learn where Bisclavaret was gone.

The lady was wedded to the knight who had cherished her for so long a space. More than a year had passed since Bisclavaret disappeared. Then it chanced that the King would hunt in that self-same wood where the Were-Wolf lurked. When the hounds were unleashed they ran this way and that, and swiftly came upon his scent. At the view the huntsman winded on his horn, and the whole pack were at his heels. They followed him from morn to eve, till he was torn and bleeding, and was all adread lest they should pull him down. Now the King was very close to the quarry, and when Bisclavaret looked upon his master, he ran to him for pity and for grace. He took the stirrup within his paws, and fawned upon the prince’s foot. The King was very fearful at this sight, but presently he called his courtiers to his aid.

Lords, cried he, hasten hither, and see this marvellous thing. Here is a beast who has the sense of man. He abases himself before his foe, and cries for mercy, although he cannot speak. Beat off the hounds, and let no man do him harm. We will hunt no more to-day, but return to our own place, with the wonderful quarry we have taken.

The King turned him about, and rode to his hall, Bisclavaret following at his side. Very near to his master the Were-Wolf went, like any dog, and had no care to seek again the wood. When the King had brought him safely to his own castle, he rejoiced greatly, for the beast was fair and strong, no mightier had any man seen. Much pride had the King in his marvellous beast. He held him so dear, that he bade all those who wished for his love, to cross the Wolf in naught, neither to strike him with a rod, but ever to see that he was richly fed and kennelled warm. This commandment the Court observed willingly. So all the day the Wolf sported with the lords, and at night he lay within the chamber of the King. There was not a man who did not make much of the beast, so frank was he and debonair. None had reason to do him wrong, for ever was he about his master, and for his part did evil to none. Every day were these two companions together, and all perceived that the King loved him as his friend.

Hearken now to that which chanced.

The King held a high Court, and bade his great vassals and barons, and all the lords of his venery to the feast. Never was there a goodlier feast, nor one set forth with sweeter show and pomp. Amongst those who were bidden, came that same knight who had the wife of Bisclavaret for dame. He came to the castle, richly gowned, with a fair company, but little he deemed whom he would find so near. Bisclavaret marked his foe the moment he stood within the hall. He ran towards him, and seized him with his fangs, in the King’s very presence, and to the view of all. Doubtless he would have done him much mischief, had not the King called and chidden him, and threatened him with a rod. Once, and twice, again, the Wolf set upon the knight in the very light of day. All men marvelled at his malice, for sweet and serviceable was the beast, and to that hour had shown hatred of none. With one consent the household deemed that this deed was done with full reason, and that the Wolf had suffered at the knight’s hand some bitter wrong. Right wary of his foe was the knight until the feast had ended, and all the barons had taken farewell of their lord, and departed, each to his own house. With these, amongst the very first, went that lord whom Bisclavaret so fiercely had assailed. Small was the wonder that he was glad to go.

No long while after this adventure it came to pass that the courteous King would hunt in that forest where Bisclavaret was found. With the prince came his wolf, and a fair company. Now at nightfall the King abode within a certain lodge of that country, and this was known of that dame who before was the wife of Bisclavaret. In the morning the lady clothed her in her most dainty apparel, and hastened to the lodge, since she desired to speak with the King, and to offer him a rich present. When the lady entered in the chamber, neither man nor leash might restrain the fury of the Wolf. He became as a mad dog in his hatred and malice. Breaking from his bonds he sprang at the lady’s face, and bit the nose from her visage. From every side men ran to the succour of the dame. They beat off the wolf from his prey, and for a little would have cut him in pieces with their swords. But a certain wise counsellor said to the King,

Sire, hearken now to me. This beast is always with you, and there is not one of us all who has not known him for long. He goes in and out amongst us, nor has molested any man, neither done wrong or felony to any, save only to this dame, one only time as we have seen. He has done evil to this lady, and to that knight, who is now the husband of the dame. Sire, she was once the wife of that lord who was so close and private to your heart, but who went, and none might find where he had gone. Now, therefore, put the dame in a sure place, and question her straitly, so that she may tell—if perchance she knows thereof—for what reason this Beast holds her in such mortal hate. For many a strange deed has chanced, as well we know, in this marvellous land of Brittany.

The King listened to these words, and deemed the counsel good. He laid hands upon the knight, and put the dame in surety in another place. He caused them to be questioned right straitly, so that their torment was very grievous. At the end, partly because of her distress, and partly by reason of her exceeding fear, the lady’s lips were loosed, and she told her tale. She showed them of the betrayal of her lord, and how his raiment was stolen from the hollow stone. Since then she knew not where he went, nor what had befallen him, for he had never come again to his own land. Only, in her heart, well she deemed and was persuaded, that Bisclavaret was he.

Straightway the King demanded the vesture of his baron, whether this were to the wish of the lady, or whether it were against her wish. When the raiment was brought him, he caused it to be spread before Bisclavaret, but the Wolf made as though he had not seen. Then that cunning and crafty counsellor took the King apart, that he might give him a fresh rede.

Sire, said he, you do not wisely, nor well, to set this raiment before Bisclavaret, in the sight of all. In shame and much tribulation must he lay aside the beast, and again become man. Carry your wolf within your most secret chamber, and put his vestment therein. Then close the door upon him, and leave him alone for a space. So we shall see presently whether the ravening beast may indeed return to human shape.

The King carried the Wolf to his chamber, and shut the doors upon him fast. He delayed for a brief while, and taking two lords of his fellowship with him, came again to the room. Entering therein, all three, softly together, they found the knight sleeping in the King’s bed, like a little child. The King ran swiftly to the bed and taking his friend in his arms, embraced and kissed him fondly, above a hundred times. When man’s speech returned once more, he told him of his adventure. Then the King restored to his friend the fief that was stolen from him, and gave such rich gifts, moreover, as I cannot tell. As for the wife who had betrayed Bisclavaret, he bade her avoid his country, and chased her from the realm. So she went forth, she and her second lord together, to seek a more abiding city, and were no more seen.

The adventure that you have heard is no vain fable. Verily and indeed it chanced as I have said. The Lay of the Were-Wolf, truly, was written that it should ever be borne in mind.

The Damnable Life and Death of Stubbe Peter

by George Bores

A true Discourse

Declaring the damnable life

and death of one Stubbe Peeter, a most

wicked Sorcerer, who in the likenes of a

Woolfe, committed many murders, continuing this

diuelish practise 25. yeeres, killing and deuouring

Men, Woomen, and Children.

Who for the same fact was taken

and executed the 31. of October

neer the Cittie of Collin

in Germany.

Trulye translated out of the high Duch, according to the Copie printed in Collin, brought ouer into England by George Bores ordinary Poste, the xj. daye of this present Moneth of Iune 1590. who did both see and heare the same.

AT LONDON Printed for Edward Venge, and are to be solde in Fleet street at the signe of the Vine.

A most true Discourse, declaring the life and death of one Stubbe Peeter, being a most Wicked Sorcerer.

Those whome the Lord dooth leaue to followe the Imagination of their own hartes, dispising his proffered grace, in the end through the hardnes of hart and contempt of his fatherly mercy, they enter the right path to perdicion and destruction of body and soule for euer : as in this present historie in perfect sorte may be seene, the strangenes whereof, together with the cruelties committed, and the long time therein continued, may driue many in doubt whether the same be truth or no, and the ratherfore that sundry falce &fabulous matters haue heertofore passed in print, which hath wrought much incredulitie in yeharts of all men generally, insomuch that now a daies fewe thinges doo escape be it neuer so certain, but that it is embased by the tearm of a lye or falce reporte. In the reading of this story, therefore I doo first request reformation of opinion, next patience to peruse it, because it is published for examples sake, and lastly to censure thereof as resaon and wisdome dooth think conueniet, considereing the subtilty that Sathan vseth to work on the soules destruction, and the great matters which the accursed practise of Sorcery dooth efect, the fruites whereof is death and destruction for euer, and yet in all ages practised by the reprobate and wicked of the earth, some in one sort and some in another euen as the Deuill, who was a murderer from the beginning, whose life and eath and most bloody practises the discourse following dooth make iust reporte. In the townes of Cperadt and Bedbur neer vnto collin in high Germany, there was continually brought vp and nourished one Stubbe Peeter, who from his youth was greatly inclined to euill, and the practising of wicked Artes euen from twelue yeers of age till twentye, and so forwardes till his dying daye, insomuch that surfeiting in the Damnable desire of magick, negromancye, and sorcery, acquainting him selfe with many infernall spirites and feendes, insomuch that forgetting yeGod that made him, and that Sauiour that shed his blood for mans redemption : In the end, careles of saluation gaue both soule and body to the deuil for euer, for small carnall pleasure in this life, that he might be famous and spoken of on earth, though he lost heauen thereby. The Deuill who hath a readye eare to listen to the lewde motions of cursed men, promised to give vnto him whatsoeuer his hart desired during his mortall life : whereupon this vilde wretch neither desired riches nor promotion, nor was his fancy satisfied with any externall of outward pleaure, but hauing a tirannous hart, and a most cruell bloody minde, he only requested that at his plesure he might woork his mallice on men, Women, and children, in the shape of some beast, wherby he might liue wihtout dread or danger of life, and vnknowen to be the executor of any bloody enterprise, which he meant to commit: TheDeuill who sawe him a fit instrumet to perfourm mischeefe as a wicked feend pleased with the desire of wrong and destruction, gaue vnto him a girdle which being put about him, he was straight transfourmed into the likenes of a greedy deuouring Woolf, strong and mighty, with eyes great and large, which in the night sparkeled like vnto brandes of fire, a mouth great and wide, with most sharpe and cruell teeth, A huge body, and mightye pawes : And no sooner should he put off the same girdle, but presently he should appeere in his former shape, according to the proportion of a man, as if he hadneuer beene changed.

Stubbe Peeter heerwith was exceedingly well pleased, and the shape fitted his fancye and agreeed best with his nature, being inclined to blood and crueltye, therefore satisfied with this strange and diuelish gifte, for that it was not troublesome nor great in cariage, but that it might be hidden in a small room, he proceeded to the execution of sundry most hainous and vilde murders, for if any person displeased him, he would incontinent thirst for reuenge, and no sooner should they or any of theirs walke abroad in the feeldes or about the Cittie, but in the shape of a Woolfe he would presentlye incounter them, and neuer rest till he had pluct out their throates and teare their ioyntes a sunder : And after he had gotten a taste heerof, he tooke such pleasure and delight in shedding of blood, that he would night and day walke the Feelds, and work extreame cruelties. And sundry times he would goe through the Streetes of Collin, Bedbur, and Cperadt, in comely habit, and very ciuilly as one well knowen to all the inhabitants therabout, &oftentimes was he saluted of those whose feendes and children he had buchered, though nothing suspected for the smae. In these places, I say, he would walke vp &down, and if he could spye either Maide, Wife or childe, that his eyes liked or his hart lusted after, he would waite their issuing out of yeCittie or town, if he could by any meanes get them alone, he would in the feeldes rauishe them, and after in his Wooluishe likenes cruelly murder them : yea often it came to passe that as he walked abroad in the feeldes, if he chaunste to spye a companye of maydens playing together, or else a milking of their Kine, in his Woolusihe shape he would incontinent runne among them, and while the rest escaped by flight, he would be sure to laye holde of one, and after his filthy lust filfilled, he would murder he presentlye, beside, if he had liked or knowne any of them, looke who he had a minde vnto, her he would pursue, whether she were before or behinde, and take her from the rest, for such was his swiftnes of foot while he continued a woolf : that he would outrunne the swiftest greyhound in that Countrye : and so muche he had practised this wickednes, that yewhoel Prouince was feared by the cruelty of this bloody and deuouring Woolfe. Thus continuing his diuelishe and damnable deedes within the compas of fewe yeeres, he had murdered thirteene yong Children, and two goodly yong women bigge with Child, tearing the Children out of their wombes, in the most bloody and sauedge sorte, and after eate their hartes panting hotte and rawe, which he accounted dainty morsells &best agreeing to his Appetite.

Moreour he vsed many times to kill Lambes and Kiddes and such like beastes, feeding on the same most vsually raw and bloody, as if he had beene a naturall Woolfe indeed, so that all men mistrusted nothing lesse then this his diuelish Sorcerie.

He had at that tiem liuing a faire yong Damosell to his Daughter, after whom he also lusted most vnnaturallye, and cruellye committed most wicked inceste with her, a most groce and vilde sinne, far surmounting Adultrye or Fornication, though the least of the three dooth driue the soule inot hell fier, except hartye repentance, and not altogither so wickedlye giuen, who was called by the name of commendacions of all those that knewe her : And such was his inordinate lust and filthye desire toward her, that he begat a Childe by her, dayly vsing her as his Concubine, but as an insaciate and filthy beast, giuen ouer to woork euil, with greedines he also lay by as the wickednes of his hart lead him : Moreour being on a time sent for to a Gossip of his there to make merry and good cheere, ere he thence departed he so wunne the woman by his faire and flattering speech, and so much preuailed, ytere he departed the house : he lay by here and euer after had her companye at his commaund, this woman had to name Katherine Trompin, a woman of tall and comely stature of exceeding good fauour and one that was well esteemed among her neighbours. But his lewde and inordinary lust bing not satisfied with the company of many Concubines, nor his wicked fancye contented with the beauty of any woman, at length the deuill sent vnto him a wicke dspirit in the similitude and likenes of a woman, so faire of face and comelye of personage, that she resembled rather some heavenly Helfin then any mortall creature, so farre her beauty exceeded the choisest sorte of women, and with her as with his harts delight, he kept company the space of seuen yeeres, though in the end she proued and was found indeed no other then a she Deuil, notwithstanding, this lewd sinne of lecherye did not any thing asswage his cruell and bloody minde, but continuing an insatiable bloodsucker, so great was the ioye he took therin, that he accouted no day spent in the pleasure wherin he had not shed some blood not respecting so much who he did murder, as how to murder and destroy them, as the matter ensuing dooth manifest, which may stand for a speciall note of a cruell and hart hart. For hauing a proper youth to his sonne, begotten in the flower and strength of his age, the firste fruite of his bodye, in whome he took such ioye, that he did commonly call him his Hartes ease, yet so farre his delight in murder exceeded the ioye he took in his only Sonne, that thirsting ater his blood, on a time he intice him into the feeldes, and from thence into a Forrest hard by, where making excuse to stay about the necessaries of nature, while the yong man went on forward, incontinent in the shape and likeness of a Woolfe he encountred his owne Sonne, and there most cruelly slewe him, which doon, he presently eat the brains out of his head as a most sauerie and dainty delycious meane to staunch his greedye apetite : the most monstrous act that euer man heard off, for neuer was knowen a wretch from nature so far degenerate.

Long time he continued this vilde and villanous life, sometime in the likenes of a Woolfe, sometime in the habit of a man, sometime in the Townes and Citties, and sometimes in the Woods and thickettes to them adioyning, whereas the duche coppye maketh mention, he on a time mette with two men and one woman, whom he greatly desired to murder, and the better to bring his diuelish purpose to effect, doubting by them to be ouermatched and knowing one of them by name, he vsed this pollicie to bring them to their end. In subtill sorte he conuayed himselfe far before them in their way and craftely couched out of their sight, but as soone as they approached neere the place where he lay, he called one of them by his name, the partye hearing him selfe called once or twice by his name, supposing it was some familiar freend that in iesting sorte stood out of his sight, went from his companye towarde the place from whence the voice proceeded, of purpose to see who it was, but he was no sooner entered within the danger of this transformed man, but incontinent he was murdered in yeplace, the rest of his company staying for him, expecting still his returne, but finding his stay ouer long : the other man lefte the woman, and went to looke him, by which means the second man was also murdered, the woman then seeing neither of both returne againe, in hart suspected that some euill had fan vpon them, and therefore with all the power she had, she sought to saue her selfe by flight, though it nothing preuailed, for good soule she was also soone ouertake by this light footed Wolfe, whom when he had first deflowered, he after most cruelly murdered, then men were after found mangled in the wood, but the womans body was neuer after seene, for she the caitife had most rauenoulye deoured, whose fleshe he esteemed both sweet and dainty in taste.

Thus this damn able Stubbe Peeter liued the tearme of fiue and twenty yeeres, unsuspected to be Author of so many cruell and vnnaturall murders, in which time he had destroyed and spoyled an vnknowed number of Men, Women, and Children, sheepe, Lambes, and Goates : and other Catttell, for when he could not through the warines of people drawe men, Women, or Children in his danger, then like a cruell and tirannous beast he would woorke his cruelty on brut beasts in most sauadge sort, and did act more mischeefe and cruelty then would be credible, although high Germany hath been forced to taste the trueth thereof.

By which meanes the inhabitantes of Colling, Bedbur and Cperadt, seeing themselues so greeuously endaungered, palgued, and molested by this greedy &cruel Woolfe, who wrought continuall harme and mischeefe, insomuch that few or none durst trauell to or from those places without good prouision of defence, and all for feare of this deuouring and fierce woolf, for oftentimes the Inhabitants found the Armes &legges of dead Men, Women, and Children, scattered vp and down the feelds to their great greefe and vexation of hart, knowing the same to be doone by that strange and cruell Woolfe, whome by no meanes they could take or ouercome, so that if any man or woman mist their Childe, they were out of hope euer to see it again aliue, mistrusting straight that the Woolfe had destroyed it.

And heere is to be noted a most strange thing which setteth foorth the great power and mercifull prouidence of God to yecomfort of eache Christian hart. There were not long agoe certain small Children playing in a Medowe together hard by yetown, where also some sotre of kine were feeding, many of them hauing yong calues sucking upon the : and sodainly among these Children comes this vilde Woolfe running and caught a prittie fine Girle by the choller, with intent to pull out her throat, bu tsuch was yewill of God, that he could not pearce the choller of the Childes coate, being high and very well stiffened &close claspt about her neck, and therwithall the sodaine great crye of the rest of the childre which escaped, so amazed the cattell feeding by, that being fearfull to be robbed of their young, they altogether came running against the Woolfe with such force that he was presently compelled to let oge his holde and to run away to escape yedanger of their hornes, by which meanes the Childe was preserued from death, and God be thanked reamians liuing at this day.

And that this thing is true, Maister Tice Artine a Brewer dwelling at Puddlewharfe, in London, beeing a man of that Country borne, and one of good reputation and account, is able to iustifie, who is neere Kinsman to this Childe, and hath from thence twice reciued Letters conserning the same, and for that the firste Letter did rather drive him into wondering at the act then yeelding credit therunto, he had shortlye after at request of his writing another letter sent him, wherby he was more fully satisfied, and diuers other persons of great credit in London hath in like sorte receiued letters from their freends to the like effect.

Likewise in the townes of Germany aforesaid continuall praier was vsed vnto god that it would please hime to deliuer the from the danger of this greedy Woolfe.

And although they had practiced all the meanes that men could deuise to take the rauenous beast, yet vntill the Lord had determined his fall, they could not in any way preuaile : notwithstanding they daylye continued their purpose, and daylye sought to intrap him, and for that intent continually maintained great mastyes and Dogges of muche strength to hunt &chase the beast whersoeuer they could finde him. In the end it pleased God as they were in readines and prouided to meete with him, that they shoud espye him in his wooluishe likenes, at what time they beset him round about, and moste circumspectlye set their Dogges of muche strength to hunt &chase the beast whersoeuer they could finde him. In the end it pleased God as they were in readines and prouided to meete with him, that they should espye him in his wooluishe likenes, at what time they beset him round about, and moste circumspectlye set their Dogges vpon him, in such sort that there was no means to escape, at which aduantage they neuer could get him before, but as the Lord deliuered Goliah into yehandes of Dauid, so was this Woolfe brought in danger of these men, who seeing as I saide before no way to secape the imminent danger, being hardly pursued at the heeles presently he slipt his girdle from about him, wherby the sahpe of a Woolfe cleane auoided, and he appeered presently in his true shape &likeness, hauing inhis hand a staffe as one walking toward the Cittie, but the hunters whose eyes was stedfastly bent vpon the beast, and seeing him in the same place metamorphosed contrary to their expectation : it wrought a wonderfull amazement in their mindes, and had it not beene that they knewe the man soone as they sawe him, they had surely taken the same to haue beene some Deuill in a mans likenes, but for as much as they knewe him to be an auncient dweller in the Towne, they came vnto him, and talking with him they brought him by communication home to his owne house, and finding him to be the man indeede, and no delusion or phantasticall motion, they had him incontinent before the Maiestrates to be examined.

Thus being apprehended, he was shortly after put to the racke in the Towne of Bedbur, but fearing the torture, he volluntarilye confessed his while life, and made knowen the villanies which he had committed for the space of xxv.yeeres, also he cofessed how by Sorcery he procured of the Deuill a Girdle, which beeing put on, he forthwith became a Woolfe, which Girdle at his apprehension he confest he cast it off in a certain Vallye and there left it, whcih when the Maiestrates heard, they sent to the Vallye for it, but at their comming found nothing at al, for it may be supposed that it was gone to the deuil from whence it came, so that it was not to be found. For the Deuil hauing brought the wretch to al the shame he could, left him to indure the torments which his deedes deserued.

After he had some space beene imprisoned, the maiestrates fround out throught due examination of the matter, that his daughter Stubbe Beell and his Gossip Katherine Trompin, were both accessarye to diuers murders committed, who for the same as also for their leaud life otherwise committed, was arraigned, and with Stubbe Peeter condempned, and their seuerall Iudgementes pronounced the 28 of October 1589, in this manor, that is to saye : Stubbe Peeter as principall mallefactor, was iudged first to haue his body laide on a wheele, and with red hotte burning pincers in ten seueral places to haue the flesh puld off from the bones, after that his legges and Armes to be broken with a woodden Axe or Hatchet, afterward to haue his head strook from his body, then to haue his carkasse burnde to Ashes.

Also his Daughter and his Gossip were iudged to be burned quicke to Ashes, the same time and day with the carkasse of the aforesaid Stubbe Peeter. And on the 31. of the same moneth, they suffered death accordingly in the won of Bedbur in the presence of many peeres &princes of Germany.

Thus Gentle Reader haue I set down the true discourse of this wicked man Stub Peeter, which I desire to be a warning to all Sorcerers and Witches, which vnlawfully followe their owne diuelish imagination to the vtter ruine and destruction of their soules eternally, from which wicked and damnable practice, I beseech God keepe all good men, and from the crueltye of their wicked hartes. Amen.

After the execution, there was by the aduice of the Maiestrates of the town of Bedbur a high pole sut vp and stronglye framed, which first went throught yewheel wheron he was broken, whereunto also it wsa fastened, after that a little aboue the Wheele the likenes of a Woolfe was framed in the wood, to shewe unto all men the shape wherin he executed those cruelties. Ouer that on the top of the stake the sorcerers head it selfe was set vp, and round about the Wheele there hung as it were sixteen peeces of wood about a yarde in length which represented the sixteene persons that was perfectly knowen to be murdered by him.

And the same ordained to stand there for a continuall monument to all insuing ages, what murders by Stub Peeterwas committed, with the order of his Iudgement, asthis picture doth moreplainelye ex-presse.

Witnesses that this istrue. Tyse Artyne.William Brewar.Adolf Staedt.George Bores. With diuers others that haue seen the same.

The White Wolf of the Hartz Mountains

Frederick Marryat

Scarcely had the soldiers performed their task, and thrown down their shovels, when they commenced an altercation. It appeared that this money was to be again the cause of slaughter and bloodshed. Philip and Krantz determined to sail immediately in one of the peroquas, and leave them to settle their disputes as they pleased. He asked permission of the soldiers to take from the provisions and water, of which there was ample supply, a larger proportion than was their share; stating, that he and Krantz had a long voyage and would require it, and pointing out to them that there were plenty of cocoa-nuts for their support. The soldiers, who thought of nothing but their newly-acquired wealth, allowed him to do as he pleased; and, having hastily collected as many cocoa-nuts as they could, to add to their stock of provisions, before noon, Philip and Krantz had embarked and made sail in the peroqua, leaving the soldiers with their knives again drawn, and so busy in their angry altercation as to be heedless of their departure.

There will be the same scene over again, I expect,observed Krantz, as the vessel parted swiftly from the shore.

I have little doubt of it; observe, even now they are at blows and stabs.

If I were to name that spot, it should be the ‘Accursed Isle .’

Would not any other be the same, with so much to inflame the passions of men?

Assuredly: what a curse is gold!

And what a blessing!replied Krantz. I am sorry Pedro is left with them.

It is their destiny,replied Philip; so let’s think no more of them. Now what do you propose? With this vessel, small as she is, we may sail over these seas in safety, and we have, I imagine, provisions sufficient for more than a month.

My idea is, to run into the track of the vessels going to the westward, and obtain a passage to Goa.

And if we do not meet with any, we can, at all events, proceed up the Straits, as far as Pulo Penang without risk. There we may safely remain until a vessel passes.

I agree with you; it is our best, nay our only, place; unless, indeed, we were to proceed to Cochin, where junks are always leaving for Goa.

But that would be out of our way, and the junks cannot well pass us in the Straits, without their being seen by us.

They had no difficulty in steering their course; the islands by day, and the clear stars by night, were their compass. It is true that they did not follow the more direct track, but they followed the more secure, working up the smooth waters, and gaining to the northward more than to the west. Many times they were chased by the Malay proas which infested the islands, but the swiftness of their little peroqua was their security; indeed, the chase was, generally speaking, abandoned as soon as the smallness of the vessel was made out by the pirates, who expected that little or no booty was to be gained.

That Amine and Philip’s mission was the constant theme of their discourse, may easily be imagined. One morning, as they were sailing between the isles, with less wind than usual, Philip observed:

Krantz, you said that there were events in your own life, or connected with it, which would corroborate the mysterious tale I confided to you. Will you now tell me to what you referred?

Certainly,replied Krantz; "I’ve often thought of doing so, but one circumstance or another has hitherto prevented me; this is, however, a fitting opportunity. Prepare, therefore, to listen to a strange story, quite as strange, perhaps, as your own:--

I take it for granted, that you have heard people speak of the Hartz Mountains,observed Krantz.

I have never heard people speak of them, that I can recollect,replied Philip; but I have read of them in some book, and of the strange things which have occurred there.

It is indeed a wild region,rejoined Krantz, and many strange tales are told of it; but strange as they are, I have good reason for believing them to be true. I have told you, Philip, that I fully believe in your communion with the other world---that I credit the history of your father, and the lawfulness of your mission; for that we are surrounded, impelled, and worked upon by beings different in their nature from ourselves, I have had full evidence, as you will acknowledge, when I state what has occurred in my own family. Why such malevolent beings as I am about to speak of, should be permitted to interfere with us, and punish, I may say, comparatively unoffending mortals, is beyond my comprehension; but that they are so permitted is most certain.

The great principle of all evil fulfils his work of evil; why, then, not the other minor spirits of the same class?inquired Philip. What matters it to us, whether we are tried by, and have to suffer from, the enmity of our fellow-mortals, or whether we are persecuted by beings more powerful and more malevolent than ourselves? We know that we have to work out our salvation, and that we shall be judged according to our strength; if then there be evil spirits who delight to oppress man, there surely must be, as Amine asserts, good spirits, whose delight is to do him service. Whether, then, we have to struggle against our passions only, or whether we have to struggle not only against our passions, but also the dire influence of unseen enemies, we ever struggle with the same odds in our favour, as the good are stronger than the evil which we combat. In either case we are on the ‘vantage ground, whether, as in the first, we fight the good cause single-handed, or as in the second, although opposed, we have the host of Heaven ranged on our side. Thus are the scales of Divine justice evenly balanced, and man is still a free agent, as his own virtuous or vicious propensities must ever decide whether he shall gain or lose the victory.

Most true,replied Krantz, "and now to my history:--

"My father was not born, or originally a resident, in the Hartz Mountains; he was the serf of an Hungarian nobleman, of great possessions, in Transylvania; but, although a serf, he was not by any means a poor or illiterate man. In fact, he was rich and his intelligence and respectability were such, that he had been raised by his lord to the stewardship; but, whoever may happen to be born a serf, a serf must he remain, even though he become a wealthy man: and such was the condition of my father. My father had been married for about five years; and by his marriage had three children---my eldest brother Caesar, myself (Hermann), and a sister named Marcella. You know, Philip, that Latin is still the language spoken in that country; and that will account for our high-sounding names. My mother was a very beautiful woman, unfortunately more beautiful than virtuous: she was seen and admired by the lord of the soil; my father was sent away upon some mission; and, during his absence, my mother, flattered by the attentions, and won by the assiduities, of this nobleman, yielded to his wishes. It so happened that my father returned very unexpectedly, and discovered the intrigue. The evidence of my mother’s shame was positive; he surprised her in the company of her seducer! Carried away by the impetuosity of his feelings, he watched the opportunity of a meeting taking place between them, and murdered both his wife and her seducer. Conscious that, as a serf, not even the provocation which he had received would be allowed as a justification of his conduct, he hastily collected together what money he could lay his hands upon, and, as we were then in the depth of winter, he put his horses to the sleigh, and taking his children with him, he set off in the middle of the night, and was far away before the tragical circumstance had transpired. Aware that he would be pursued, and that he had no chance of escape if he remained in any portion of his native country (in which the authorities could lay hold of him), he continued his flight without intermission until he had buried himself in the intricacies and seclusion of the Hartz Mountains. Of course, all that I have now told you I learned afterwards. My oldest recollections are knit to a rude, yet comfortable cottage, in which I lived with my father, brother, and sister. It was on the confines of one of those vast forests which cover the northern part of Germany; around it were a few acres of ground, which, during the summer months, my father cultivated, and which, though they yielded a doubtful harvest, were sufficient for our support. In the winter we remained much indoors, for, as my father followed the chase, we were left alone, and the wolves, during that season, incessantly prowled about. My father had purchased the cottage, and land about it, of one of the rude foresters, who gain their livelihood partly by hunting, and partly by burning charcoal, for the purpose of smelting the ore from the neighbouring mines; it was distant about two miles from any other habitation. I can call to mind the whole landscape now: the tall pines which rose up on the mountain above us, and the wide expanse of forest beneath, on the topmost boughs and heads of whose trees we looked down from our cottage, as the mountain below us rapidly descended into the distant valley. In summer-time the prospect was beautiful: but during the severe winter, a more desolate scene could not well be imagined.

"I said that, in the winter, my father occupied himself with the chase; every day he left us, and often would he lock the door, that we might not leave the cottage. He had no one to assist him, or to take care of us---indeed, it was not easy to find a female servant who would live in such a solitude; but could he have found one, my father would nut have received her, for he had imbibed a horror of the sex, as the difference of his conduct towards us, his two boys, and my poor little sister, Marcella evidently proved. You may suppose we were sadly neglected; indeed, we suffered much, for my father, fearful that we might come to some harm, would not allow us fuel, when he left the cottage; and we were obliged, therefore, to creep under the heaps of bears’skins, and there to keep ourselves as warm as we could until he returned in the evening, when a blazing fire was our delight. That my father chose this restless sort of life may appear strange, but the fact was, that he could not remain quiet; whether from the remorse for having committed murder, or from the misery consequent on his change of situation, or from both combined, he was never happy unless he was in a state of activity. Children, however, when left much to themselves, acquire a thoughtfulness not common to their age. So it was with us; and during the short cold days of winter, we would sit silent, longing for the happy hours when the snow would melt and the leaves would burst out, and the birds begin their songs, and when we should again be set at liberty.

"Such was our peculiar and savage sort of life until my brother Caesar was nine, myself seven, and my sister five years old, when the circumstances occurred on which is based the extraordinary narrative which I am about to relate.

"One evening my father returned home rather later than usual; he had been unsuccessful, and, as the weather was very severe, and many feet of snow were upon the ground, he was not only very cold, but in a very